Am I Too Late?
by bluelimit
Summary: Jake and Peyton, one part story. Am I Too Late is an Old 97's song. Read and enjoy! Feedback is loved, so please review!


_People always leave_.

She didn't want to think that way. Not anymore. Not about him.

But some days, it was hard not to.

Peyton was lying on her bed, the sounds of Old 97s blaring from her stereo, the music cranked up so loud that she couldn't hear herself think.

And that was exactly what she wanted. To drown out her thoughts, and let absolutely nothing penetrate her mind. Especially not him.

"_You know, um,… I wasn't entirely honest with you, before."_

"_About what?"_

"_The reason I came back."_

"_You said you were tired of running."_

"…_Yeah, but… that's not the only reason. See, the whole time that I was gone, I kept…thinking about all this stuff that I should have… done… when I had the chance, but didn't."_

"_Well, like what kinda stuff?"_

"_I don't know. Mostly being with you."_

It had been eight months. Eight months, two weeks, 4 days and about 16 hours since she'd watched him ride away.

That was the last she'd seen him. That was the last she'd heard from him.

She understood. He had to put all of his energy, every ounce of it, into finding his daughter, into protecting her and caring for her. He couldn't risk giving anything away. He couldn't take the time to maintain a romance. She understood.

But it still hurt. And she still missed him.

Peyton looked down at the drawing she had sketched, barely aware of what she was creating. There it was, in black and white – the fire escape leading up to the back entrance of Tric, the female figure with the curly hair, tears on her cheek, and the shadow of a young man on a motorcycle. And the words in block letters. Give Me Tragedy.

It's not what she wanted. Tragedy, sadness, that aching feeling of missing something, missing herself. Sighing loudly, she ripped the page from her sketchbook, crumpling it up and throwing it over her shoulder. And faintly, through the loud palpitations of the music, she heard a squeak.

A strange feeling washing over her, Peyton turned slowly toward the source of the sound. The tiny blonde figure clad in a pink snowsuit was blinking at her bewilderedly. And…standing! Jenny was standing up!

"Jenny!" Peyton scrambled off her bed, scooping the puffy little bundle into her arms and holding her tight. "Oh my goodness, oh baby, oh my god…" She could barely form a comprehensive thought, just held the little girl in her arms, gasping and crying in relief. She buried her head in Jenny's body and wept.

The music stopped. Peyton looked up.

There he was. In her doorway.

She'd imagined seeing him standing there again, standing like he was, leaning slightly against the doorframe, his head angled, looking at her with those eyes that could blaze right through her bluster and armor, and reach the deepest parts of her soul.

"Say I'm not too late," he murmured.

Slowly, Peyton rose to her feet, setting Jenny safely on the floor. She walked to him, slowly, methodically, until they were standing inches apart. He stared at her, his eyes wide, his lips parted. She could see his pupils dilating.

"You're not too late," she whispered.

His shoulders sagged in relief, and she could hear him sigh loudly. He reached one arm around her waist, pulling her close to him. As he drew her into his body, she felt safe, completely safe, for the first time in months. For a moment, they just held each other, her head resting firmly against his chest, listening to his heart pound. He held her head against him.

She felt his hand drift down to her neck, urging her head up. Tilting her chin, she gazed up at him. He gazed back, inclining his head down towards hers.

"Hi!"

They laughed, moving apart.

"Hi," Peyton cooed, kneeling down beside the baby girl. "Hi!"

Jake picked up his daughter, holding her above him. "Hi, beautiful baby. Hi!"

"Hi!" Jenny was triumphant, beaming down at them. Jake lowered her to his hip, balancing her there. He turned back to Peyton, a father's proud grin easing into a young man's soft smile. He looked into her hazel eyes.

"Hi," he whispered.

"Hi," she whispered back.

He balanced Jenny with one hand, reaching out with the other to stroke Peyton's cheek. He inclined his head toward her once more, his lips reaching hers this time. Her hand found its way into his hair, combing through the strands as they kissed slowly, finally.

_Sometimes they come back._


End file.
